


Slaughter-Bench of History

by insaneprecious



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 15:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6810670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insaneprecious/pseuds/insaneprecious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after the Breach the Warden-Commander of Ferelden arrives to Skyhold with some news. She doesn't quite get the welcome she expected but the information she carries shakes the Inquisition to it's core and leads the Inquisitor on another journey she didn't ask for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Slaughter-bench of History is a Hegelian term where "world historical figures" and their sacrifice is generally just collateral damage to the progress of realization for History (Geist/Spirit if you are familiar with Hegel)
> 
> *** updates with probably be sporadic. But i'm gonna try to do them weekly, it just may not always be on the same day. It depends on my work schedule.

_“We return to the selfishness of standing on a quiet shore where we can be secure in enjoying the distant sight of confusion and wreckage” - Hegel_

Estel had found something familiar but equally foreign about Skyhold. She was welcomed with all the proper pleasantries that was expected when welcoming a Warden-Commander, despite her early arrival, but was now quietly left to herself, a cup of tea between her chilled hands and sitting – watching - from the top step of the many flights to the entrance of the hold. Skyhold had presented itself to her as any great battlement would, it was well stocked, ran like clockwork had that off community vibe. The vibe of something artificial created for a temporary moment before falling apart after the storm had passed. The community was in the mid-stages of collapse.

The Breach had been closed for six months by now and impatient merchants and homesick soldiers were in the process of finding greener lands to cultivate. Estel had always felt that the life of false community followed by decay wasn’t right for her. She was always the center of where community followed. That felt the most familiar. But upon her arrival the foreign feeling of her situation seemed to had shifted her position of a focal point of temporary community had turned on her. She was no longer the powerful center but someone who lingered on the outside, within the community. The Inquisitor had taken the role of a community builder.

Speaking of which, Estel hadn’t been greeted by the Inquisitor. It was her General, Cullen Rutherford, and a number of idle scouts and soldiers who took special interest simply out of something to do. She anticipated meeting Inquisitor Lavellan, but as the sun rose to mid-day it seemed less likely that she would meet many this day. She took a sip of her tea, letting the warmth of the liquid heat her from the inside-out.

Thedas had been thrust into summer without mercy, Ferelden and Orlais were humid and miserable. But Skyhold seemed perpetually stuck in early spring, something she had not dressed for entirely. She had clothes for winter in her pack, she always had clothes for winter, but one of the maids had placed it in her room and that involved moving. Something she opposed at this moment. She promised herself that she would put on a thicker tunic when her tea was done.

Her attention was caught by the dwarf who climbed the steps towards her; he smiled, or was it more of a grin? And leaned against the railing of the steps beside her,

“We haven’t quite grasped the technique of being a host here,” He remarked, she snorted and took another sip and frowned within her cup, the brown liquid had gone cold within her hands.

“Varric Tethras,” He held out his hand and she took it shaking it with a polite smile.

“Estel Mahariel.”

His face twisted into a confused searching for where he’s heard the name before then fell into a grinning fascination,

“Well shit, I didn’t know I was talking to the Hero of Ferelden.”

She smiled and tried to hide a chuckle,

“I only let you General know. Which is why I think I’ve been let alone. Although I’m surprised I haven’t seen the Inquisitor.”

“She’s ill. Or that’s the story that’s been thrown around lately. The mark on her hand, the anchor, has been giving her trouble. More than during all the weird shit with Corypheus. But a Warden doesn’t come to Skyhold without needing something done.”

She stood, and Varric noted that she wasn’t much taller than him. She was about the height of Merrill, if she was here. He frowned; she looked quite a bit like Daisy as well, and spoke the same accent. He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it,

“You make us sound like beggars,” Her smiled faded into something more serious, she looked distant, “You were friends with the Champion of Kirkwall, right?”

Varric’s eyes met with the hazel ones that settled on him. All the emotions linked to Hawke’s death seemed to flood back with the simple question and he wondered if that settled look was of guilt or pity. He felt rather furious. She obviously knew the answer; his book was paired with a journal on her belt. He managed to set his emotions aside and answer flatly,

“Yes, I was friends with _Hawke_ ,” She wasn’t just a title, she was Hawke. He had betrayed his anger to Estel and she looked away, fiddling with the tea cup in her hand, as though measuring her options. Varric stared at her, taking in her lithe body and dark hair, the vallaslin that covered not just her face but her body. Her eyes cut towards him,

“She’s not dead.”

***

            Pico Lavellan had been watching the Warden and Varric’s conversation from her balcony. She watched the warden stand, fiddle with the cup then disclosed a revelation that floored Varric, or at least made him grab the railing beside him and sit slowly on the step. She furrowed her brow and continued to watch. The Warden sat back down on the step next to him. Pico could only make out the top of the warden’s head; Varric had disappeared behind the railing he had grasped moments earlier. She eventually lost interest and turned back into her room.

            Her marked hand had been wrapped by one of the physicians. It was all they could do, and she appreciated their effort but the pain was over-powering and exhausted her. She couldn’t ignore the Grey Warden any longer though. She had hoped the pain would subside but, like most things it was always more complicated than she really wanted. She descended the stairs out of her room with quiet ease and slipped through the door. The Warden had disappeared from the stairs and left Varric, standing on the step by himself.

She had almost reached Varric when, from behind, her elbow was caught and she spun, almost causing Cullen to step back. She stole a quick glance from behind and noticed Varric had disappeared before focussing on her General. She sighed. He cleared his throat,

“Inquisitor, we had a Warden come in this morning. She has been waiting to talk to you.” He turned a folded piece of parchment over in his hand before he handed it to her. Pico took it gratefully and studied the wax seal. A griffin was planted within the hardened drop of red wax. The paper was crumpled on the edges, suggesting it had been tucked away for quite some time, at the latest a month, and had suffered among the journey in a satchel too packed for comfortable travel.

“I have seen her but this seems below your position. Don’t we have pages to hand me letters?” She smiled, incredulous that the Warden had handed him a letter that he didn’t give to a squire or one of the lower level soldiers. She managed to get her thumb nail under the seal while keeping eye contact with the taller man in front of her. He looked away, towards the open doors that led out to the stairs the Warden had once sat,

“I thought the same thing. She requested I be the only one who knew for now.”

“Knew what?” She followed his gaze. The seal popped off without theatrics, the page falling open slowly.

“The Warden we have is the Warden-Commander of Ferelden; she’s the Hero of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine.”

Pico’s face blanched and her body froze. She had put off greeting the Hero of Ferelden. She had met with Alistair and treated him much better than she had with the Warden-Commander. Granted Alistair had information pertinent to the Breach. She could feel her stomach drop, and she all of a sudden felt very sick. She swallowed and nodded, acknowledging his revelation,

“How long has she been here?” She voice audibly shook.

“The Hero of Ferelden” she thought. If her heart didn’t give out now, she wasn’t sure she would survive meeting with the Warden now.

“She came early this morning. The only ones up were I, a handful of soldiers and the maids.” The latter comment was an attempt to make the former less awful. She almost cried,

“Andraste’s tits…” She closed her eyes and ran a hand across her face, “After supper we’ll arrange a meeting with her. Everyone can come. I have a feeling what she has to say is quite important.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Rotunda had been painted beautifully. The murals covering every inch with intricate lines and elaborate accents that drew the eye up and around. It forced whoever entered to turn, catching everything tge frescoes could offer. Even then, little was actually absorbed. Once an eye left it, the brain seemed to forget as if the view had exhausted it's capacity to comprehend, dragging the eyes to something else traced onto the wall with overwhelming detail.

Estel had seen nothing quite like this before. Or if she had, she forgot whether because of an eluvian or a threat that needed immediate attention. She placed a hand on the wall, gazing absently upon the intricacies. Her brow furrowed as her eyes crawled up the wall, stopping at the black, gnarled face of a wolf.

She wasn't sure how long she stood staring at this particular mural but she hadn't heard Pico enter the Rotunda, lingering behind her. Pico followed Estel's gaze, paused and swallowed back the flood the murals unleashed.

"I've read the letter you wrote." Estel noticeably jumped, muffling a yelp behind a trembling hand. She glanced over to Pico with a smile that was only polite and held little warmth. It was one people gave to strangers who they passed down the street and made accidental eye-contact. Pico felt entirely foreign to the short elvhen warden before her.

She had heard the Hero of Ferelden came from the Southern Dalish Clan, Sabrae. The clan had sometimes wondered north but held tightly to their individuality. Southern elves in Ferelden were always shorter… probably due to the cold. But their noses… that was something Pico had rarely seen. Each clan had different characteristics, but flat noses were something unique to the Sabrae.

Estel stole one last glance at the mural before leaning against the wall, her strong legs propped out in front so her entire weight relied on the walls ability to support her.

"You have questions then?” She tilted her head to the side, Pico sat on the empty desk in the center of the rotunda and nodded just enough to signify that she had heard the Warden and unfolded the sheet,

“You were vague… there isn’t much information to work with. You write that among you travels you’ve _encountered information to suggest that Hawke is alive._ You go on further to claim _her abilities would’ve helped her survive_ if what you’ve heard is true. You end saying that _her recovery would aid in your investigation of the Calling and preventing the inevitable early death of Grey Wardens_.” Pico furrowed her brow and glanced side-ways towards Estel.

Estel looked down, watching her purple toes,

“Some of it’s just speculation. I need someone I trust with her ability to see if the speculation is true.”

Pico sighed,

“We should discuss this with the others. I had called a meeting to discuss your revelation. Varric claims you sounded so certain this afternoon.”

Estel shook her head, pushing her tired body of the wall using her back and shoulders as the momentum. Her body wanted to go back towards the wall, having enjoyed it’s momentary rest, but Estel fought through the exhaustion enough to find a spot beside Pico on the table,

“We can’t have a meeting about all of this. Can we continue this like it is now? Private. All of Thedas doesn’t need to know every detail.” Pico didn’t respond. She settled for looking at her, her body angled slightly away from her.

“I’ll be just as vague with them, as I was in the letter.”

The room fell silent, Pico just breathed as she worked through what could possibly require such secrecy. She stared at the letter in her hand, up at the murals then back towards Estel,

“What is it you can’t tell them?” Her voiced sounded flat, but not by intention. She had never appreciated secrets, they prevented nothing and prolonged the inevitable. She crossed her legs, her boots hitting the leg of the desk as her feet swung back.

“Hawke is a blood mage. She is hailed as a powerful elemental and force mage, but she’s also a blood mage. That’s what’s significant. Blood mages do fairly well in the Fade, although spirits and demons are attracted by them, they do better than most. There is evidence she able to freely walk the Fade, and is perhaps protected by something. A spirit maybe? I don’t know.” Estel started to unwrap the bandage that covered her right hand and arm, waiting for a response from the stunned Inquisitor.

“She condemned blood magic…” Pico covered her mouth. Estel continued unnoticed.

“Why would she hide it from the Inquisition?” Pico was dumbfounded. No one had noticed, Varric had said nothing to anyone. Did he not trust that the secret would be kept? Did she not trust the Inquisition to protect her… well, she was sacrificed, so of course not. Estel had known, and now no was to know except herself. Pico shook her head,

“This is ridiculous…”

“She didn’t tell you because the Inquisition is too closely linked to the Chantry. I had to tell you because I need help. I don’t know what’s ridiculous about it. If you were an apostate and malificar, would you trust an organization who could influence the next Divine? Especially considering who you have within your ranks.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have Cullen Rutherford and Cassandra Pentaghast as advisor and companion. They’re both linked to the Chantry, a Templar and Seeker. I know for a fact that Cullen would not have accepted a Blood mage within the Inquisition. Cassandra had been hunting Hawke for the Mage Rebellion, not to mention Anders. If news had escaped that Hawke was malificar, it would’ve been open season. Not to mention Vivienne de Fer, now Divine Victoria, what would she have thought?  Her appointment has caused revolts, she has put mages back into Circles and is known in Orlais as strictly against the freedom of mages. There is a group within your Inquisition that opposes the use of blood magic. Do you understand now why this had to be private?”

Pico snorted. Estel was right, the Inquisition had always been linked neatly with the Chantry. She herself had gone from unsure to the Herald of Andraste because there was a desire to believe. The Inquisition never lingered too far from Chantry law. She had held the mages at arm’s reach, siding with them only if they were the prisoners of the Inquisition and were to go back to their Circles after the Breach. She had done nothing to illicit a space that could’ve brought trust to those who knew the secret.

“What do I do with this information?”

“Do what you like,” Estel propped herself off the table and crumbled the gauze into a messy ball, “I’m… going to bed. I’ve been awake for a while, so tell your companions and advisors what you think is necessary for them to know. I just wanted you to know first.”

“I’ll help you get Hawke back… and to further your research.” Pico felt a wave of unease hit her when the words tumbled out of her mouth, making a mess on the paper in her hand. She felt illiterate looking upon the paper.

Estel smiled and paused before she left the Rotunda,

“One more thing, who painted the walls?”

“Solas.” Pico breathed. The taste of blood filled her mouth before she noticed she had split her lip with her teeth. Estel left with a friendlier smile, a single nod and a wave. Pico didn’t notice the scars that discoloured the vallaslin down the milky-white arm, nor the bright red wound on the palm of the hand.


End file.
